


weathering

by strawberryblnd



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryblnd/pseuds/strawberryblnd
Summary: “i’ll be seeing you in every lovely summer’s day.”momo can't promise to stick around long, but she can promise that the sun will always shine on sana. for both of them, it's enough.
Relationships: Hirai Momo/Minatozaki Sana
Comments: 28
Kudos: 196





	weathering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naeildo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naeildo/gifts).



> insp. by "i'll be seeing you" by billie holiday 
> 
> TW: contains themes revolving terminal illness and death
> 
> sana has a fire sign moon so i'm gonna write her like she does, god dammit!

_**Summer, Momo’s 11th year** _

Momo hates the rain. Being told you have less than 10 years to live during the worst rain storm Kyoto has seen in decades would cause disdain for such weather in anyone.

Momo also hates school. The children there treat her like she has a horn and she’s never been the best at listening.

School ends in July, the rainiest month in Kyoto. One issue ends and another starts.

But Momo isn’t a pessimist, just a realist. When she faces a dilemma, she tries to fix it.

So naturally, as she sits on the curb in her rain boots filled to the brim with chilled rainwater and the yellow hat on her head dripping on her already soaked jeans, she tries to stop the rainfall.

She’s done it before, when thunder rang out too loudly for her to sleep or heavy torrents threatened to flood her mother’s flower garden.

She would squeeze her eyes shut and focus as hard as she can on dwindling the precipitation until a shower became a drizzle became a mist became triumph; a small smile spreading over a young face.

“Did you do that?” A voice asks, causing Momo to jump. The water built up in the brim of her hat splashes onto the wet pavement around her.

“Huh?” Momo asks quietly, removing the hat to squint up at the small figure that has appeared in front of her.

“I’ve never seen rain stop that quickly.” The voice speaks again and Momo’s eyes work to slowly adjust to the bright light of summer sun reflecting off the now dormant rainclouds. She’s able to make out a bright pink raincoat and long dark hair.

Momo has no intention of answering the girl’s question, let alone entertaining her presence any longer, but she obviously doesn’t pick up on this and plops down onto the cement next to Momo.

Rather rude, if Momo must comment.

“You know, ignoring the question just makes you more suspicious.”

Momo pulls her hat back on to cover her short black bob, hoping it can be a physical indication of her wish to be left alone.

Either Momo isn’t being obvious enough or the girl is dense, because she remains next to Momo. In fact, she scoots _closer_ to her, their knees touching.

That gives Momo an idea.

She tries not to use her sickness to get things (although she’s been offered countless trips to Disneyland, each one more tempting than the last), but this is too easy and small for her to feel guilt over.

“I’m sick.” She says simply, hoping it will be fear-inducing enough for the girl to back off.

A small gasp pulls her eyes to watch the girl’s reaction, finally looking at her face for the first time.

What Momo sees shocks her. Genuine concern lives in the girl’s widened brown eyes.

Here’s the thing about concern for others; Momo has come to learn it’s a secondary reaction, never a primary one. When someone learns you have an illness or some other compromising condition, their first thought and reaction is worry for themselves. 

It’s always _How does this affect me?_ then only after that, and only from the kinder souls, does Momo get genuine concern or engagement.

This girl apparently never read the hand book on instinct driven selfishness, though, because before Momo can realize her plan is failing, she’s making a soft mewling sound and reaching a cool hand under the brim of Momo’s hat to feel her forehead.

“Not like that.” Momo snaps, shaking her head slightly to bat the hand away.

“Really?” Momo wonders how the girl seems to instantly understand. “When did you find out?”

More shock floods Momo’s system. This is certainly not the kind of leading question she’s used to receiving.

Normally, Momo hates engaging in conversation about her condition, but maybe out of sheer respect for the girl’s boldness, she answers.

“When I was eight.” Momo runs a finger against the cold wet ground at the memory of her diagnosis.

“How many years ago?”

Momo has to think for a moment. “Two.”

“You’re 10!?” The girl asks excitedly.

Momo doesn’t answer. Duh. Subtraction is taught in the first year of school. She flicks the water she had collected on the tip of her index finger off.

“I’m 10 too.”

Momo nods. She’s not sure exactly what type of reaction that’s supposed to garner. Her forte definitely doesn’t lie in interacting with children her age.

“Does it hurt?” The girl is persistent, Momo will give her that.

“No.”

“You don’t talk much.”

Momo can’t help the sigh that escapes her. She wonders if it has ever, even once, crossed this girl's mind that maybe she doesn’t want to be spoken to.

Apparently not, because she continues on.

“That’s fine. My mom tells me I talk enough for two people, anyways. That’s why she and my dad won’t have a second kid no matter how much I ask.”

Momo hums.

“You haven’t told me your name yet.” The girl observes, bringing a booted foot up into the air to stretch it out of what Momo can only assume is restlessness.

“You never asked.” She notes, trying to hold off giving any unneeded information to the girl.

“Well asking hasn’t gotten me much out of you so far.” She notes, bringing her leg down to look Momo in the eye.

Momo feels a tiny smile tug at the corners of her mouth at the girl’s observation. Maybe she’s a bit more clever than Momo’s been giving her credit for.

She seems to forgo reasking her question in favor of answering it herself.

“My name’s Sana. If you don’t tell me your name I’m gonna come up with one for you.”

Now _that_ sounds like a fate worse than revealing personal information to a stranger. She’s only known Sana for a matter of minutes, but it’s been enough time for Momo to understand that she isn’t the type of person to be trusted with creating a nickname. Unless Momo wants to go by something unnecessarily cutesy for the rest of her life.

“Momo.” She answers quickly.

Sana smiles wide.

“Momoring.” She responds, seemingly satisfied with herself.

“Why?” Momo whines.

“Because it’s cute!” Sana exclaims, reaching a hand out to poke Momo’s cheek, only to be dodged.

“You said you’d only do that if I _didn’t_ tell you my name.”

“I didn’t make any promises.” Sana tuts. “When I heard your adorable name, I couldn’t help myself… Momoring.” She adds on with a playful smile.

Momo feels her cheeks heat up at something within Sana’s response.

“You’re blushing.” Sana points out bluntly.

“No I’m not.” Momo grumbles. She doesn’t blush.

Thankfully, Sana’s apparently infinite curiosity causes her to move on from the topic, asking Momo if she has any siblings, to which Momo answers with a simple yes until Sana prods her for more details about Hana.

As they talk, Momo gets used to Sana’s insistence on conversation (maybe even finds herself enjoying it) and the sun begins to come out from the clouds.

Momo learns that Sana just moved to Kyoto from Osaka. She loves dogs and hates quiet (as if Momo had to be told that). She has a best friend back in her home town named Yuto who likes to dance. She wants to help people when she grows up.

From Momo, she pulls out a few details here and there. Momo likes to read and play nintendo and hates meeting new people. She’s never really had a friend before. She doesn’t want to be anything when she grows up, because she probably won’t grow up.

This makes Sana go silent, a feat presumed impossible until now. Momo feels a little pang of guilt for making the girl sad and the rain comes back in the form of a sprinkle.

The sun is shining brightly, beaming down on the two as they walk down the paved road.

Well, Sana is walking. Momo is latched onto her back.

She’d protested adamantly, but Sana wouldn’t have any of it. Usually, it would make Momo furious. She hates being treated like she’s less capable than others her age.

When Sana asked her, though, it didn’t feel like a _let me carry you because I think you’re too weak to walk all this way_ , but a _let me carry you because it will be fun._

Momo can confirm this because if Sana's intention really _were_ to protect Momo fearing that she’s too weak, she’d be doing a terrible job at fulfilling it.  
  
She’s running around wildly, sneakers slapping the pavement and wavy hair bouncing in the sunshine. Momo grips her shoulders tightly, surprised she’s even been able to stay on Sana’s back all this time.

She feels like one of the cowboys in western movies her dad watches sometimes, how they get onto rowdy bulls just to see how long they can stay on. Except they, at least, _choose_ to ride the bull. Momo didn’t exactly have a choice, so maybe, in this situation, Sana is the cowboy and Momo is the bull, or something poetic like that.

When Sana jumps over a tree branch in her path and Momo thinks something along the lines of _this is it, this is where I die_ , she considers bringing on some rain just to stop this.

The thing is, Momo has to genuinely _want_ the weather to change in order for it to, and with Sana’s loud laugh floating into her ears, she wouldn’t be able to summon even a single rain cloud.

On the last day of August, Sana and Momo sit in a tree in Momo’s backyard licking sweet ice pops. Momo is perched cautiously at the bottom while Sana hangs upside down from the highest branch that will permit it, juice from her pop dripping down onto Momo’s shoe.

The sky is mostly clear, but a small patch of clouds is passing over the sun. Momo watches them move slowly, taking into account each individual cloud, searching for the places where one ends and the other begins.

“Momoring.” Sana shouts out suddenly. Momo doesn’t startle around her anymore, used to outbursts from the girl.

She hums softly, inviting her to speak.

“You’re my best friend.” Sana beams upside down at Momo.

“I know.” Momo answers with a small grin.

“It’s rude not to say it back.” Sana nags with a shake of her head and beneath her, her long hair waves back and forth. It almost makes Momo giggle when it comes dangerously close to brushing her face.

“What if I don’t mean it?” Momo deadpans back at her. She would mean it, but Sana doesn’t know that. Does she?

Sana lets out a loud laugh.

“So who beats me?” She asks, bringing her legs up from where they were hugging the wood in favor of swinging them back and forth above her body, her small arms now the only thing anchoring her to the tree.

Sana always acts as if she’s tempting fate.

Any onlooker would say she’s _asking_ to fall from the high branch, but Sana never does fall or fail or anything along the lines. Just walks on the edge of them like it’s a game. It’s something that didn’t take Momo long to notice, and now that she has, she sees it in every little thing Sana does.

Momo hums thoughtfully at the question.

As if on cue, a small dog runs up to the tree, tail waving wildly behind him as he jumps and barks in excitement.

Momo laughs, jumping from her place on the trunk to crouch and run a hand along his fur-covered back.

“Jack.” She answers with a satisfied smile, licking her peach ice pop.

Sana gasps in faux offense and makes quick work of maneuvering recklessly down the tree, abandoning her treat somewhere along the way.

Jack leaves Momo to run circles around Sana. Momo would be mad or disappointed if not for the bright smile on Sana’s face.

“We’re enemies now.” She snarls at the dog, playfully swatting the air in front of his face. Jack immediately reciprocates, jumping up to attack Sana with bats of his paws.

She play-fights with the dog for a couple seconds before scooping him up into her arms with a triumphant “I win!” looking up at Momo expectantly.

Jack squirms reluctantly in her arms but Sana holds him proudly, waiting for something from Momo.

Momo just raises an eyebrow.

“Oh come on! I fought for your honor!” Sana whines, putting the dog down much to his glee.

Momo feels a smile crack her expression.

“Fine. You’re my best friend.”

Sana squeals and throws her arms up triumphantly before smothering Momo in a hug.

The clouds that were blocking the sun dissipate almost instantly.

When Sana asked to have a sleepover, Momo didn't answer. When Momo doesn’t answer, Sana makes up whatever response she wants from Momo and accepts it as one she truly gave.

That’s how Sana ends up laying belly down on Momo’s twin size bed while the latter sits on the floor.

Momo rarely ever even lets Hana into her room, so Sana’s eyes searching around her walls should probably be getting on Momo’s nerves. Except that Sana cuts off the train of thought with a mewl of interest.

“You have a moon on your ceiling.” Sana observes matter-of-factly, head tilted up and eyes trained directly above her.

Momo follows her line of sight to the big grey painting of a full moon on her white ceiling.

Her father had done it the night she was diagnosed. He’s an artist for a living, so it makes sense to Momo that his first response would be to paint her something.

And it works. On the worst nights, when Momo finds herself thinking about everything she’ll miss, she cracks open an eye to see her own little moon and her anxieties melt away like snow in the morning sun.

“My dad painted it.” She responds easily.

“Why?” Sana prods, eyes still taking in the painting.

“Because I like the moon.” Momo answers simply.

“Why?” Sana is looking at her now.

Momo swallows under the attention. She doesn’t really have an answer to the question. She always has. There’s something calming about the fact that it has so much power, controlling the waters, and yet it’s calm and gentle.

Momo doesn’t blame the moon when she hears on the news that tides in Okinawa are getting dangerously close to beach residencies. She knows it’s just trying to do its job.

She identifies with it a bit when winter snowstorms rage on despite her best efforts as she sits scowling in concentration in front of her fireplace.

Sana pushes past Momo’s silence. “I like the moon too, but I like the sun better.”

Momo thinks that makes sense. Sana _is_ the sun, bright and persistent, making herself known despite whatever tries to cover her.

Like how the sky is still light on the cloudiest day and the moon still glows with sunshine even when its companion is on the other side of the world.

Like the sun’s rays, Sana demands to be seen one way or another.

“I like the moon better.” Momo answers. It’s not completely true. Momo likes them equally, but the moon is much easier for her to understand.

A silence falls over them and light rainfall begins to patter against Momo’s window.

Sana smiles widely, but Momo can’t decipher why.

“I hate the rain.” Sana complains, although it’s playful, as if she’s waiting for something.

Momo just hums. She’s not a huge fan of it either, but right now it’s harmless. Besides, even as young as she is, she realizes she can’t stop inconvenient weather every single time it occurs.

The thing about weather is it happens no matter what. If Momo stops it from raining one day, the next day’s torrent will be doubled, or the next four days will have lighter, more spread out rainfall. So she saves her abilities for when the weather is unbearable or threatening.

She hums, making no effort to stop the increasingly violent droplets. Though she suspects, in the back of her mind, that Sana is waiting for her to do just that.

Momo hasn’t forgotten about the question Sana asked her upon their first meeting. Sana is the only person that’s ever hinted or guessed at her strange capability, but Momo wrote it off with nothing more than hope that it was just a joke, not something Sana truly believed possible.

The girl tries again.

“I hate it sooo much.” She continues, a facetious smirk on her face.

Momo wants to laugh at her indiscreetness.

“I just wish there was something that could stop it.” Sana keeps trying, and now Momo really is laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Sana raises an eyebrow at her as she collapses onto the floor in giggles.

Momo controls herself and looks up at Sana. “You.”

At that, Sana smiles, seemingly giving up her endeavour to test Momo’s hidden aptitude.

“I’m tired.” The girl on the bed yawns. They’d had a long day outside, chasing ducks and picking flowers and laughing until they felt like their stomachs would explode.

Momo nods in agreement, getting up to turn the light off.

She slides under her covers next to where Sana lay, letting herself sink into the comfort of her mattress.

Sana continues to speak. She always does. She talks about how Momo’s room has more color in it than she was expecting and how she’s excited to go back to school together and how she thinks they’ll make a lot of friends and how one time, she saw a raccoon dog holding a whole apple.

Momo tries to listen as intently as she can, but slumber threatens to overtake her attention.

A loud crack of thunder pulls her from the edges of sleep and Sana instantly stops in the middle of her sentence about what color she wants to paint her nails next. Her eyes are wide and her shoulders are tense.

It takes something heavy to stop Sana from talking, so a bud of concern plants itself in Momo’s chest.

“Are you okay?” She asks, sitting up slightly to inspect Sana’s rigid form.

At first, Sana doesn’t speak and the bud blooms into something bigger.

“Sana?”

Then, she’s smiling halfheartedly, batting Momo’s attention away with a dismissive hand.

“It just startled me, that’s all.” Sana explains, relaxing back into the bed.

A flash of lightning illuminates Momo’s room for half a second followed by a louder boom this time.

Again, Sana goes stiff, and Momo watches as her eyes fill with tears that reflect the light of her Monster’s Inc night light.

“You really do hate rain, don’t you?” Momo asks softly. Her tone reveals that it’s a genuine question, not a teasing one.

“I just don’t like thunder.” Sana gulps.

Momo remembers Sana revealing that small detail to her on the curb when they first met and curses herself for forgetting about it.

Another, farther away bang makes the tears spill over, Sana crying softly. Momo feels panic set in. She puts an awkward arm around Sana for comfort and closes her eyes to concentrate.

Sure, the storm will come back eventually, but not while Sana is crying in a bed that isn’t her own with nothing but Momo’s frail arms to comfort her.

“What are you doing?” Sana asks between heaves. Momo shushes her lightly, putting all of her energy into imagining a moment where the rain stops falling and the lightning stops striking.

Sana’s soft cries had been making it hard to focus on the task, but they’ve halted now, probably out of curiosity.

After a few seconds, the pouring rain slows until it can no longer be heard against Momo’s window and the sky stops lighting up with flashes every couple of seconds.

When Momo opens her eyes again, Sana is glowing in excitement.

“I _knew_ it.” She claims victoriously with tear stained cheeks.

_**Winter, Momo’s 15th year** _

Naturally, the teasing increases with the number of her classmates currently going through puberty, so it’s not surprising that Momo becomes less popular in secondary school.

The jokes don’t bother her much.

Momo can ignore them relatively easily, because here’s the thing; she was supposed to die a year ago.

A 14 year old comparing her to Hazel Grace becomes a triviality when she’s living on borrowed time. Teenage boys may be cruelly clever, but they have nothing on good ol’ fate.

Sana doesn’t let it slip past her so easily. She despises the jokes about her being Momo’s caretaker and other, uncreative, relatively harmless things. In Momo’s opinion, they’re bound to happen. A pretty, popular, not to mention perfectly healthy girl being attached at the hip with the local sob story isn’t exactly conventional.

Besides, Momo thinks Sana benefits from the situation if anything. Being called Mother Teresa certainly isn’t an insult. Anyone else would probably take the attention from having a terminally ill best friend and run with it, but Sana hates when people make comments about Momo, so much so that she’s had to stop the girl from getting into physical fights with people over it.

Like right now.

A boy a few years ahead of them made a comment questioning why Momo even bothers to come to school anymore when she could drop like a fly at any moment.

As far as Momo’s concerned, it’s a fair question.

Of course, it’s stupid. If Momo’s illness progressed to the point where she was actually in danger of dying at any moment, she would stop coming to school. He doesn’t know that, though, so as brainless as it is, it’s fair to ask, at least.

Sana obviously does not agree with this unspoken sentiment, because she’s honest to god squaring up with the kid.

Momo supposes this is the time where she should intervene. Not because it isn’t hilarious to watch Sana threaten a boy at least 2 years older than her, but because the girl measures in at 5’3 and 100 pounds on a _good_ day and Momo thinks one of them being destined for premature death is already enough.

“Sana.” Momo hisses, trying to waive her best friend’s focus while drawing as little attention to herself as possible.

Sana remains dead set on revenge, moving now to shove the older boy in intervals, begging for a punch to the face.

“Sana.” She says it louder this time, cringing slightly when some eyes avert from the unfurling scene in favor of watching her.

When the boy finally seems to have enough and pulls a hand formed into a fist behind his head, Momo decides it’s time to put a definite stop to this before Sana ends up permanently disfigured.

She steps between them, putting a hand flat to Sana’s chest and another in front of the boy’s threatening fist.

His eyes are full of anger and he doesn’t look convinced enough to stop by Momo’s interference, so she speaks up.

“Seriously? Punching me is a special kind of low.” She states with a raised eyebrow.

It’s a weak argument, but it looks convincing enough to him as his expression softens in consideration at her words and his fist falls to his side.

Momo doesn’t wait for the rest of the scene to play out, just grabs Sana’s hand and drags her away.

“What the hell were you thinking?” She breathes after pulling Sana into the bathroom and moving to fix her misplaced tie. She doesn’t miss the way Sana cheeks go red at her action.

“Did you hear what he said, Momoring?” She asks before adding under her breath, “God, I hope you didn’t.”

Momo hums, moving to repin Sana’s hair.

“People say things like that all the time, Sana. You can’t fight all of them.”

“Not if you keep stopping me.”

At that, Momo lets out a light laugh, tapping Sana’s head affectionately and finally stepping back a bit, watching Sana visibly let out tension as she deflates.

Momo would be blind not to notice that she has some kind of nerving effect on Sana, but it never exactly comes up in conversation. Besides, she thinks she’s probably no less obvious herself, so she lets it remain unaddressed.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” Momo says seriously now.

At that, Sana looks like she understands, but Momo knows to take the expression with a grain of salt. It’s something Momo has reminded her of every time she’s brushed too closely with a fist fight and Sana still gets herself into the same situations.

“I just don’t get how you can sit back an-”

“You don’t have to get it.” Momo cuts her off.

Sana’s eyes widen slightly. It’s unusual for Momo to interrupt her, but she’s tired of asking the same thing of Sana over and over.

“You’re not the one it happens to so you don’t need to understand my reaction.” She elaborates.

Sana looks as if Momo has just claimed the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, and Momo thinks she can guess why.

The idea that anything can happen to _just_ Momo or _just_ Sana is a bit absurd at this point, considering they do everything possible at each other’s sides.

However, Sana will never know how it feels to be stalked by something so much bigger than yourself since childhood. She’ll never know how it feels to be shaken awake by your parents in the middle of the night because they were afraid your slow breathing indicated something other than a deep sleep. She’ll never know what it’s like to be shadowed by the one thing everyone’s so afraid of.  
  
Some things, no matter how physically close two people are, just can’t transfer from one psyche to another, and on the days she feels worst, she’s infinitely grateful Sana doesn’t have to carry it with her.

“Okay.” Sana surrenders finally, letting out a deep breath.

Momo looks at her through incredulous eyes.

“No more fights to protect my honor?”

Sana throws her hands up dramatically, a playful smirk pulling on her cheeks. The glaring winter sun shines through the small windows onto her eyes, bright amber shooting out from her irises and glinting mischievously.

“No more fights to protect your honor.”

(Less than a week later, Momo is holding a damp washcloth to a gash on Sana’s cheek from a girl who whispered something Momo never quite caught. Sana just apologizes quietly, but not after bragging that Momo should see the other girl.)

Sana has grown up well. Her chubby cheeks thinned out sometime within the last couple of months to reveal elegant bone structure; sharp edges complemented with soft accents. Her once long hair was cut to mid length and dyed a light brown a few weeks back and it frames her slightly matured face perfectly.

Momo doesn’t notice right away how objectively pretty Sana has become. Maybe she’s always thought Sana’s wild hair was perfect for her and maybe she never thought her cheeks needed to hollow out in the first place.

Regardless, even if it takes Momo a little while to catch on, it certainly doesn’t take anyone else as long. Sana quickly becomes known around their school for her “unique charms” (as she had put it while playfully bragging to Momo).

It’s not uncommon for people to talk about Sana. For girls to compliment her while they’re passing in the hall or for boys to ask her on dates after class.

Sana seems generally uninterested in it all, much to Momo’s silent relief. She would never admit it out loud, but the attention Sana gets has awoken a tiny, jealous monster within her.

Or rather, a territorial one.

Momo hates the spotlight, so she isn’t at all envious of her, but the thought that Sana, _her Sana_ , is all of a sudden everyone’s to comment on and fawn over makes that beast stir in her stomach.

Maybe this is the feeling that drives Sana to get into so many fights within these halls.

It’s only natural for Sana to get invited to an end-of-the semester party, and only natural for her to extend the invitation to Momo.

“No.” Momo answers the second the words ‘small get-together’ leave Sana’s mouth.

Sana immediately lets out a whine, like she was expecting that response and had a sound of indignation already locked and loaded. A very Sana thing to do.

“You know I’m not going to go if you don’t.” Sana reasons. Momo looks to her as they walk side by side down the hall.

“That’s stupid.” Momo answers simply.

Another terrible whine.

“Satang, if you wanna go, you should go. You know I hate parties.”

“But it’s just a-”

“Don’t say it’s a small get-together.”

“-small get-together.”

“Sana.” Sana may be relentless, but Momo is nothing if not sure of herself.

“Would I ever invite you to something if I thought you wouldn’t like it?” Sana raises her eyebrows in question as they stop in front of a closed classroom door.

That’s the first thing said that actually makes Momo consider attending this poorly concealed party.

Sana continues her pitch.

“You’re gonna like Mina. She’s kind of quiet like you. And then there’s Yuta-”

“Yuta?” Momo interrupts to ask. If Sana is refering to who Momo suspects she is, it all but confirms that this is, in fact, going to be crawling with sweaty teens listening to top 40 hits on full volume. Nakamoto Yuta is an upperclassman, and a popular one at that.

Sana nods her head.

“How do you know him?” It comes out much more aggressive than Momo means it too, and she thinks maybe that little beast in her stomach is rearing its ugly head, rattling the bars of its cage threateningly.

Sana scowls at her with more confusion behind it than anger.

“He’s a friend of Mina’s. Why does that matter?”

“It doesn’t.” Momo answers quickly. Too quickly to seem natural. “I was just curious.” She tries to remedy.

Sana inspects her with a raised eyebrow before realization overtakes her face.

“You like him, don’t you?” Sana asks, tone somewhere between unenthusiastic and downright disappointed. Momo takes note of it. Tucks it into her back pocket to wonder about later.

“No.”

“It’s okay if you do.” Sana assures.

“I don’t.” Momo repeats.

It’s a strange conversation.

Actually, it’s an astoundingly _normal_ conversation, on its surface level, at least. Two high school girls talking about going to a party and accusing each other of crushes. It should be playful and lighthearted and yet, for Sana and Momo, so much resides between the simple words.

Momo thinks they’ve always been like that.

She’s used to being able to change the weather, but a cloud of unsaid truths hangs above the two of them and no matter how hard Momo wills it away, it remains; dark and threatening to storm.

“I’ll go.” Momo says finally.

“To the party?” Sana asks, eyes wide and grateful.

“I thought it was a small get-together?”

By that Friday, Sana and Momo are officially done with their first year of high school and although it’s a small feat, Momo still thinks it should be celebrated.

Which is why she brings on a gentle snowfall to flurry around them as they walk to Mina’s house.

Sana laughs in delight at the sudden change, looking at Momo knowingly as an amazed couple walking by them muses about how snow wasn’t in the forecast.

“I think tonight will be fun.” Sana purrs, holding out mitted hands to catch the falling flakes.

Momo holds back a comment about how Sana thinks everything will be fun.

“Don’t you think?” She asks, concentrated on packing the caught snow into a small sphere.

It’s rare for Sana to ask Momo for an answer. For as long as Momo can remember, she’s gotten away with only ever answering about 30% of Sana’s questions.

So for the talkative girl to outright prompt Momo to speak, she thinks Sana must be seeking some kind of reassurance.

“I think anything will be fun if I’m with you.” Momo answers honestly, sticking out her tongue afterwards to feel the cold drops against it.

Sana tosses her small snowball up at Momo’s face, although it’s thrown so halfheartedly she assumes it’s never meant to actually hit her.

Sure enough, it gets halfway to its destination before flopping on the increasingly frosty ground beneath them.

“You’re too cheesy.” Sana whines. The snowflakes have gathered atop her hair like crystals.

Momo smiles to herself. She says what she means, mostly. Nothing more, nothing less (sometimes less).

To assume she would say something just for its cheese-factor is completely incorrect, but she lets Sana believe what she wants.

Maybe it’s better for her to think of it like that, anyways. Less complicated.

They turn down an alley into a tightly packed neighborhood of traditional houses and Momo can already hear the low thrum of music.

She looks at Sana to make another joke about the whole ‘small get-together’ thing, but doesn’t have the heart when she sees the girl buzzing with excitement, practically skipping down the paved gravel.

Some cars line the street and a garage is open, purplish light escaping it. Momo wonders fleetingly how no one on the otherwise quiet street has shut it down yet.

When they reach the house, there’s an overwhelming smell, or an overwhelming _mix_ of smells. Some, like cigarettes and cologne, Momo recognizes. Some, like a skunkish scent and some oddly sweet, artificial aroma, she does not. She scrunches her nose.

Teenagers, some fresh faced and some suspiciously worn-looking, are strewn throughout the area. A car directly in front of the house is full of people and blasting music, moving back and forth on its wheels. Whether they’re leaving or arriving, Momo can’t tell. A group of people sit in a circle in the center of the garage playing some type of card game that involves taking shots. A couple makes out against the back wall and a boy that looks a bit like he’d try to read you his poetry if you approached him takes a drag of what looks like a cigarette.

It all seems suspiciously ordinary, like someone took a scene from a coming of age movie and were trying to recreate it.

Sana looks at with an expectant raise of her eyebrows. “You ready to go inside?”

“So this isn’t the party?” Momo asks disbelievingly.

A warm laugh unravels from Sana’s chest and suddenly this unknown place full of weird smells and loud noises so many people isn’t as scary anymore.

“Oh, Momoring.” Sana answers affectionately, taking Momo’s smaller hand in hers and leading her to a door at the back of the stuffy garage.

If Momo thought the garage was a party, this is a festival. Music is playing so loudly it must reach every corner of the house, but Momo can’t tell what the source of it is. The only thing louder than the music is the cacophony of voices all trying to talk over it and each other.

There must be nearly a hundred people packed into the bottom floor. The air is thick with all different kinds of smoke. Some of it are those skunk adjacent and sicky sweet smells from earlier and some of it is tobacco and some of it is something else entirely, hot food.

Sana must feel Momo tense under her hand, because she turns around to inspect her face. The dim lighting coming from lamps and screens shines off of Sana’s eyes and Momo wants to tell her she looks beautiful.

“Is this okay?” Sana asks.

Momo nods.

Sana pulls her closer, so that she can feel Momo against her back as she leads her deeper into the house.

True to what she thought she smelled earlier, a girl is standing over the stove in the kitchen. She has quite the audience, a group of teenagers pounding fists on the kitchen island and chanting a name that sounds vaguely familiar.

What kind of maniac can focus on making food in this environment, let alone under the attention of such a rowdy crowd?

She bumps into Sana when the girl stops and feels her exposed shoulder brush against her chin.

Sana turns to face her, their noses almost bumping.

“That’s Mina.” Sana says dreamily.

Only then does Momo connect the dots. The name being chanted was one she’s been hearing from Sana’s mouth for a few days now. The two met in history class and as she watches Mina dice up carrots to throw into the dish she’s making, she understands why Sana couldn’t shut up about her.

She’s silent, never engaging with her viewers audibly, but she sends them little smiles when she knows she’s done something exceptional, like spun the knife around her fingers flashily or sprinkled some spice into the pot with a delicate flare.

She has a kind of confidence that doesn’t need to be shown with anything other than action. Momo instantly finds herself drawn in.

Sana hasn’t moved her face, though, still watching as Momo’s eyes stay trained on every small movement of Mina’s.

“I take you out one time and you already have a crush.” Sana chides in a whisper, her breath hitting Momo’s cheek.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she’s suddenly aware of the sheen of sweat that’s covered her palms. She moves quickly away from Sana and wills herself not to notice how her face falls slightly.

“She seems cool.” Momo responds, begging every nerve in her body to settle.

Mina has now apparently finished her dish, pouring it into a deep bowl to place all the small garnishes on top. A boiled egg, spinach, cooked pork. Momo watches as she places them all on top of thick noodles meticulously before showing off her finished product to the engaged throng of people.

From what Momo can tell, it’s some kind of udon soup.

When Mina’s eyes land on the two of them, they light up and she places the bowl on the counter to be ravaged by some of the onlookers. Momo wonders why Mina made the perfect bowl of noodles if only to leave it for some drunk teenagers.

“Hi, Sana.” She greets softly, maybe even timidly.

It’s completely out of place. Everything around Mina is loud and chaotic and begging for attention while the girl herself is acting like she’s in the middle of a daycare during naptime.

“Mina!” Sana practically squeals. She, on the contrary, fits in perfectly here. Momo is still deciding how she feels about that fact.

“This is Momo.” She elbows Momo’s stomach lightly, prompting her to speak.

“Hi.” Momo chokes out feebly.

“Hey, Momo! I’ve seen you around school.” Mina smiles brightly at her. It’s unfair, how easy she makes being beautiful look.

Momo can’t say the same about the girl, so she doesn’t.

Mina’s turned back to Sana now.

“Have you seen Yuta?” She asks with a playful lilt in her voice. Momo wills away thoughts about what that could mean.

Sana shakes her head, taking a moment to look around.

Mina’s soft eyes are back on Momo and they call for her undivided attention.

“Momo, I want to show you something.” Mina smiles. This is definitely not an invitation Momo thinks she should take. She doesn’t talk to many people besides Sana and her family, and for good reason. She’s painfully shy and even with people she’s comfortable around, quiet.

But Mina made a bowl of udon in front of a group of strangers and told Momo that she’s taken notice of her before and Sana has slipped from where she was just standing. So she lets Mina lead her out onto a much quieter patio.

The snow has stopped falling, but it’s still settled on the ground and the raised concrete edges of a planter. The air is cool and biting, and Momo’s turtleneck and jacket do little against it when she’s standing still.

“What did you wanna show me?” Momo asks, pulling her thick jacket tighter around herself.

Mina lets out a melodic laugh.

“Honestly, I just wanted to get you alone.” She admits, wiping snow off the ledge of the planter so she can sit. She motions for Momo to join her.

Momo swallows at that, but finds her seat next to Mina regardless.

“Why?” Momo asks and watches as the question turns into fog in front of her.

Momo had to ask, because Mina is pretty, and a pretty girl has never spoken to her like this. Except Sana, but that doesn’t really count.

“Why did I wanna get you alone?” Mina is laughing again. It rolls out of her in waves.

Momo turns to look at her, meeting the gaze that was already trained on her own and nods.

“Because I think you’re pretty.”

“Oh.”

It’s not the first compliment Momo has ever gotten, but it’s the first one to make her feel like she’d stumble a bit if she tried to stand up. Except for the occasional comment from Sana, but that doesn’t really count.

Mina looks like she’s expecting something. Like Momo should be able to take her words and do something with them. Like they didn’t meet all of 5 minutes ago. Like they aren’t surrounded by the least romantic scene ever.

Momo actually thinks she can hear someone throwing up on the side of the house.

But Mina has the kind of eyes people write songs about.

“Why were you cooking?” Momo’s been wondering from the second she saw Mina dancing around the kitchen.

Mina shrugs. “Wanted to.”

That makes Momo smile. She can appreciate a simple answer. She understands why Sana said her and Mina are similar.

Something in the way Mina answers like she would’ve makes her brave.

“I think you’re pretty too.”

Apparently, Momo is bilingual without even knowing it because to Mina, this translates as an invitation to lean forward and press their lips together.

The initial shock of if freezes Momo, and it’s seconds of Mina just moving her mouth clumsily against Momo’s slightly open one.

But just like Mina makes everything look easy, she makes it feel easy too, so Momo finds herself reciprocating as best she can. She’s never even come close to this kind of contact with someone, but she’s seen it in movies and thought about what it would be like to do with Sana, so she tries to draw what she can from memory.

It’s a bit awkward, but when Mina is looking at her afterwards, Momo can’t find it in herself to regret it.

“You’re distracted.” Mina breathes out.

_What the hell is that supposed to mean?_

“Sorry. Was I bad?” Momo winces at her own response. She remembers now why she didn’t want to accompany Sana to this place full of new people.

Mina smiles like she knows something Momo doesn’t. Momo thinks there’s probably an infinite number of things Mina knows that she doesn’t.

“Not at kissing. But at hiding the fact that you’re thinking about someone else.”

This puzzles Momo. Both because of the sentiment and how sure of it Mina is. Momo wasn’t, at least she doesn’t think she was. The only other person she’d thought about was Sana, but that didn’t really count. Anyway, how do you deny something someone has already labeled as true?

Still, Momo tries.

“I wasn’t.”

Mina smiles affectionately and Momo thinks maybe she’d like to kiss her again.

“Whoever it is, they’re lucky, Momo.”

Momo can feel the way her brows furrow in confusion.

She thinks that if she believed in past lives like her mother so adamantly does, she’d conclude by now that Mina has lived many. There’s more to her than a wistful teenage girl.

Before Momo can deny it again, Mina is standing, floating up and away like the snowy dust at her feet.

Momo doesn’t miss her presence enough to follow after her. She wonders if Mina is hoping she will anyway.

Momo’s mind wanders to Sana. How at home she looks among the dim lights and loud noises. A little thought springs up like a weed trying to grow under a building. A thought that makes Momo shudder against the cold air.

Sana is wild and free and commits to everything like consequences don’t exist. Sana would go anywhere and do anything, just once. Just to try it.

But Momo has a hold on her. Somehow, somewhere, and definitely to her complete bemusement, Momo has become what Sana puts her all into. The thing she clings to regardless of outcome.

And that deep-rooted weed of a thought rings out.

That she’s holding Sana back.

It weighs on her chest and clogs itself in her throat.

She stands, slipping a bit on the icy ground while making her way back inside.

She swallows her nerves to ask some of the partygoers if they’ve seen the girl, to which a few people don’t even look like they understand what she’s saying.

Eventually, a girl with a short brown bob and a beret points her to the garage.

Momo thinks it odd, for a moment, that Sana would abandon this place chock-full of people for the quieter outside, but slips through the heavy door anyways, on her way to tell Sana she’s leaving.

It takes her sight a moment to adjust to the fluorescent purple lighting, but her eyes naturally fall on Sana like they’ve been magnetized to her over the years.

It’s hard to tell in the dark, especially with that cloud of _whatever_ that’s seemingly settled all around this place, but she thinks for a moment that Sana’s gaze locks with hers.

If Sana ever was looking at her in the first place, she’s not anymore. Her head is now slightly turned away from where Momo stands. Only then does she notice the figure leaning too close to Sana. A boy that looks tall compared to her small form, but not much else.

Sana kisses him recklessly and messily. Like Sana does everything. Like Sana had done to her in some of Momo’s more shameful dreams.

That pesky little beast in her stomach rips out of its cage, bending the bars and leaping through them. She doesn’t understand why this scene makes her mind go empty. White out of anger and white out of simplicity.

Because seeing Sana kiss someone else is complicated and complicated things annoy Momo. But it’s also blaringly simple. Like a math equation. Sana plus someone else equals a furious Momo.

She doesn’t know which she prefers; the easily understandable feeling that she only wants Sana for herself, or the puzzling jumble that tells her there’s so much more to this than that.

What she does know is that this garage suddenly feels much too small.

Hot tears mix with the cool rain drops hitting her face, fueled by embarrassment. That she was foolish enough to think her and Sana could stay in a little bubble. Foolish enough to expect Sana to wait for her until there’s no more waiting to be done. She swallows her anger, because that’s no way to live. It’s not fair to ask of Sana.

She almost doesn’t hear the footsteps against the wet pavement over the pouring of the rain and roar of thunder.

She walks faster. She doesn’t need to turn to know who it is. She’d recognize Sana even if the only hint of her company was telescopic; a sniffle in cold air or the tap of a foot against concrete.

But Momo has known for a long time that Sana is not satisfied with her presence being subtle.

“Are you serious, Momo? Thunder!?” She cries over the howling wind.

Momo doesn’t turn around. She thinks if she does, a bolt of lightning might strike right between where the two of them move.

The water makes her black hair stick to her face and she wishes for a moment that she had brought an umbrella, but after all, torrential downpour wasn’t in the forecast.

“Momo!” Sana tries again. It’s the first time she’s ever heard anger in the cheery girl’s voice.

It’s frightening enough to tamp down the constant, burning need she has to stay close to Sana.

She continues on through the busy street, knowing Sana won’t push farther than that. There are people around watching the exchange and she knows Momo hates making a scene.

Thunder booms just above her, lightning somewhere nearby illuminates a building across the street and no one calls after her this time.

She takes a warm bath and slips into comfortable clothing before burying herself in the blankets on her bed. She stares at the painted moon above her, watching it light up in intervals of minutes. She thinks about how it makes mistakes, too. How it creates tides so high they wash away houses and gobble up people.

A sound in the leaves of the oak tree outside her window pulls her from her thoughts. Despite the rain, she kept it open. She _always_ keeps it open and when a face appears in the corner of the sill, she’s reminded why.

“Are you crazy?” Momo breathes quietly. Sana hears anyway. She climbs clumsily through the window frame and plunges onto Momo’s carpet, soaking wet in the clothes she had left the party in.

“You realize sitting in a tree during a lightning storm is like asking to get struck, right?” Momo asks, sitting up now.

“You realize there isn’t actually supposed to be a lightning storm tonight, right?” Sana counters, straightening out her clothes as best she can in their damp state.

Momo hums. She can’t exactly argue with that.

“It was supposed to scare you away.” She explains, not sure if she’s joking or not.

“Yeah, which sucks, by the way. Using the one thing I’m afraid of because you’re mad.”

She lets the accusation hang in the air between them before adding, quieter: “But I’m more afraid of you hating me than some thunder.”

Momo feels her eyes widen. How could Sana think it’s even possible for Momo to hate her?

“I don’t hate you. I’m just-” She stops talking. She doesn’t know what she is, exactly.

“Mad.” Sana finishes. It’s the only time Momo can recall that the girl finishes one of her sentences incorrectly.

“No.” Momo shakes her head and suddenly, they’re not fighting, but working together.

Sana studies every corner of Momo’s face.

“Jealous.” She settles on.

The beast in her stomach responds instantly to its name and Momo feels her whole bottom half twist in on itself. She likes to stay small, but Sana always seems to have a magnifying glass on her.

She remains silent.

“I saw you with Mina.” Sana confesses quietly.

Momo looks at her quizzically, silently asking for an elaboration. She hopes it doesn’t mean what she thinks it does. Her cheeks heat up at the thought of Sana seeing her and Mina kiss.

“So are you a thing now?”

“What? No she-”

“It’s fine if you are, you know.”

“We’re not.” Momo says before Sana can interrupt her again.

“I missed you.” Sana says quietly.

“Huh?”

“When you walked out of the party. I missed you.”

Momo wants to admit she’s been missing Sana from the second Mina kissed her, but it floats up to join all the other unsaid things before she can grab it.

“I’m sorry.” She admits quietly.

“Are you gonna stop the rain?” Sana asks, laying down on Momo’s bed, cold and wet and completely uninvited by the atmosphere of the space. Still, Momo scoots over so there’s enough room for them both on the twin mattress.

The image of Sana kissing Yuta still burns and twists in her brain like an angry flame.

“No.”

_**Autumn, Momo’s 18th year** _

It’s a cool September morning when Momo should tell Sana.

She should tell her that it’s been getting harder to get up once she sits or lays down.

She should tell her that continuing to go to school is very ill advised by her doctor.

She should tell her that her parents have started insisting she eat dinner at the table with them and that her sister has come home from university to spend extra time with her.

And it’s a cool september morning when Momo keeps it all to herself.

Sana is strewn out on her bed, holding a thick book over her face. If Momo had to guess, she’d say Sana is only pretending to be as invested in _The Cell: Molecular Biology_ as her furrowed eyebrows would suggest.

Sure enough, Sana speaks, revealing what she’s actually been thinking about.

“I still don’t get why you’re not taking any tests.” She says it as a statement, but after years by her side, Momo knows it’s a question. And one that Sana expects an answer to.

Momo takes a deep, cynical breath. “Well, Sana, maybe it’s a little late to tell you this since we’ve been best friends for 8 years now, but I have this condition called-”

“Don’t be an ass.” Sana deadpans, abandoning the book to turn onto her stomach and face Momo where she sits at Sana’s desk chair.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Sana gives her that look she dons whenever Momo is playing a bit dumb.

“I want you to tell me why you didn’t sign up for a single entrance exam.” Her tone is serious.

Momo thinks every internal organ in her body liquifies at that moment. She wonders when this, telling Sana, became her biggest fear. Why it’s more frightening to her than the reality that she’s losing a battle she’s been fighting since she was 8 years old.

Behind Sana’s vague questioning is a clear, desperate inquiry. If she wasn’t so sensitive with Momo, if she didn’t have a tendency to treat her like she’s made of glass, Sana would just be asking outright if Momo is dying.

She should tell her.

She can’t even remember a time she’s lied to Sana before.

She should tell her.

Sana’s eyes are pleading in a way Momo has never seen. Shameless and raw.

She should tell her.

“I don’t have the grades, anyways. There’s no point in paying money and getting up at the break of dawn to take a test for more school that I probably won’t even end up livin-”

“Okay.” Sana cuts her off again. It’s obvious she just doesn’t want to hear Momo reference her inevitable future, or lack thereof, so bluntly.

“Okay?” Momo checks with expectant eyebrows.

“Alright.” Sana answers, turning back to her book, resting it open on the bed and putting her cheek in her hands as she looks down at it. This time, Momo is sure Sana’s not focused on it.

Momo would do anything to be able to tell if Sana believes her or not.

Because if Sana is ever sure of her suspicions, she’ll stop everything.

Momo is almost certain Sana would hold back her education for a year to spend the time with her.

But Sana is a star. Better yet, Sana is the sun. She shines no matter what and she’s unapologetic about it. The earth needs the sun like it needs water and an atmosphere. The earth needs Sana.

Momo has been lucky to get to hold something so brilliant and striking in her hands, to keep it so close to herself for a little bit. So how could she, after knowing what Sana’s radiance feels like up close, keep it from the rest of the world?

“Did you sign up for the tests of those Seoul schools you like?”

Sana’s been talking about going to school in Seoul for years, ever since she got hooked on some cheesy K-Dramas and the Korean restaurants in the downtown area. It’s always wistful, though. Like she’s never let herself think about it sincerely.

“I’m staying here.” Sana says it with a defensive kind of determination.

“I figured you’d say that.” Momo tuts. “I talked to your parents. We registered you for some.”

A flash of something unreadable washes over Sana’s face.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I know you wanna go to school there.”

“Momo I don’t even know Korean. Why would you do that?” She asks again. Momo thinks this is the closest thing to panic she’s ever heard in Sana’s voice and she almost feels guilty.

Until she remembers that the only reason Sana is worried is because she knows that if she takes the exams, she’ll get in. She’s too smart not to, and even if she wasn’t, too tenacious. And if she gets in, what excuse does she have not to go? Not knowing Korean is a rather weak one.

“You’ll learn.” Momo replies cooly.

Sana’s resolve is slowly melting away.

“What schools?”

“Just the big ones. Seoul National and a few others. I knew it didn’t matter as long as I signed you up for at least one. You’ll get in.”

“It doesn’t matter if I get in.” Sana laughs humorless. She sounds too tired for how young she is. Too weathered. Momo thinks she’s to blame for that. A thousand times over in a thousand different ways.

“I’m not going.”

“Sana.” Momo starts.

Sana shakes her head. It’s over dramatic and childish. It’s Sana. Momo wishes she could say why it fills her with even more love for the girl.

“I’m not leaving you, Momo.”

October comes and goes too quickly for Momo’s comfort. (Time has a funny way of doing that when you’re running out of it.)

For Halloween, Momo makes Sana dress up with her as two characters from her favorite anime. They get teased for it at school, but Sana doesn’t seem to care. She spends hours doing both of their hair and make up, and just sticks her tongue out unbothered when anyone makes a comment about it.

It’s November and Momo swears she can feel the air getting richer each passing day.

Autumn isn’t her favorite season because of her birthday, but because of how intimate it feels. No matter how cold it is outside, she feels warm in her own skin whenever the leaves start to turn different colors.

In a more self-centered aspect, she doesn’t have much work to do during the season, either. The rain from late September to early December is temperate and the winds a pleasant kind of annoyance, never dangerous.

Autumn and Momo agree with each other.

Sana seems to like it too, but only because it’s an excuse to wear dark tones and drink coffee that’s so sweet Momo’s not sure how she ever has any teeth left by the time December rolls around.

“Your birthday is coming up.” Sana whispers into the library that’s completely silent save for her incessant tapping of a yellow pencil against old wood.

Momo scoffs softly. She can’t help but find it funny that she’s not even taking any of the exams they’ve holed themselves up in the school library to study for, and yet she’s the one keeping them on task. Or at least, trying to.

Momo hums a confirmation. It’s only a few days away, but she’s been trying not to think about it from fear she might jinx it. It’s already so ironic for her to be celebrating the birthday that will mark her as an adult, she doesn’t want to do anything that might tempt fate’s sick sense of humor.

“How do you wanna celebrate?” Sana asks a little louder. A beam of sun creeping in through the tall windows is illuminating a patch of dust that floats between them. Momo thinks it’s strange that Sana still looks so gorgeous when highlighted by something objectively gross.

Celebrating is something Momo hasn’t really considered, but Sana obviously has. Momo can practically see the idea’s swirling around in her soft eyes. She recently bleached her hair and the new color makes them look a lighter shade of brown.

Momo just hums in agreement with whatever Sana’s silent suggestion is, moving her attention back down to the flashcards she’s scrawling out for Sana to use.

Sana cackles as the hot water spills over onto Momo’s hand.

“Shhhhhit.” Momo curses, holding her right hand in her left. “I just wanted tea.” She pouts. The pain is already forgotten by the time the words leave her mouth.

“I told you I’d make you some in the morning!” Sana reminds her, eyes wide and finger pointing accusatory.

“It’s my birthday!” Momo whines. “I want it now.”

“Your eyes are really red.” Sana states, leaning over the counter to look at them closer. Usually, Momo would be afraid of her face turning an observable shade of pink. For some reason, that fear is gone, fizzling into the air before it can even come into fruition. Momo starts to think she should have said yes all the times Sana offered to smoke with her before this.

“I think I’m really high.” Momo confirms, nodding a little as Sana gets closer.

“I can see it. In your eyes.” Sana muses again. Her words come out slow and dreamily and her breath hits Momo’s cheek. Momo doesn’t know if that’s actually how Sana’s speaking or if it’s just how her ears are picking it up.

For a moment, she thinks she’ll be brave enough to lean forward and kiss Sana like she’s wanted to for so long.

And then Sana is pulling away, nodding her head like she’d observed something actually useful rather than blatantly obvious.

Momo feels her body getting heavier by the minute, so she moves to sit on the red couch in Sana’s living room that’s connected to the kitchen. Sana follows her, but plops down on the floor. Momo feels a hand on her leg and a wave of heat rushes to her stomach. Sana seems content with just holding it there, her palm cupping Momo’s knee. It should be innocent, so Momo feels guilty that her mind is wandering to not-so-innocent places and she’s too intoxicated to stop it like she usually can.

“You know…” Sana muses slowly. “I’ve heard that when you’re high, you say what you really mean.”

Momo can only laugh at the string of words falling out of Sana's mouth so slowly. But the girl is looking at her seriously.

“What do you really mean, Momoring? When you tell me I’m the only one.” She rests her face on Momo’s knee, cheek squishing and eyes sparkling in curiosity.

Momo feels a rush of lethargy from her head down into her limbs, pulling her deeper into the couch cushion. She wants to open her mouth to speak, but she just… never quite gets around to it. Oh well.

“No, no… no come on.” Sana pleads, voice far away. Her head doesn’t move from where it rests but her hand comes up to lazily bat at Momo’s stomach. “Momoring please don’t go quiet on me now.”

Momo forces her eyes to widen as best she can, watching Sana’s hopeful ones scan her face.

“What was the question?” Momo asks. In this moment, all she wants is to be able to give Sana exactly what she’s asking for.  
Sana forces her head up now, face more serious than it has been the whole night.

“You always say I’m the only one. What does that mean? I need to know what it means before I leave.” Sana asks again with more urgency, and it’s a lot for Momo to take in when her head feels like it’s floating inches above the rest of her body.

What _does_ it mean? Momo isn’t entirely too sure herself.

She knows that people like Sana need things to hold onto. Little tangible pieces of evidence that they’re loved as much as they love.

Except Momo isn’t the most expressive person, she never has been. So when she found something she could give Sana over and over again without revealing something too dangerous, she fell into the habit of utilizing it whenever she could.

She said it for the first time the night after Mina’s party, because she had been thinking about Sana through the whole kiss and Sana had walked all the way to Momo’s house in a thunderstorm.

She whispered it on nights when Sana stroked her arm, falling asleep in her twin size bed.

She said it once jovially when she mentioned an attractive celebrity and Sana pretended to get jealous as a joke.

She sprinkled it throughout their interactions, just as a little reminder that her world begins and ends with Sana. Of course, in a way less intense than that. In a way easier to digest when they’re 17 and standing on the edge of the world.

To answer Sana’s question, it means a lot of things. All the things Momo has never been brave enough to actually say.

Lately,

It means _I don’t want you to leave, but you and the world deserve to meet each other_.

It means _I love you, but my love is a curse. It’ll bind you to a hospital bed in Kyoto while the whole wide world is waiting for you_.

It means _still, there have been so, so many times I’ve wanted to be selfish and just kiss you anyways_.

Sana is crying where she sits cross legged on the floor. She’s retreated from Momo’s body and the gray hoodie she wears now looks giant on her hunched figure. It’s only then that Momo realizes she’s been voicing her thoughts aloud due to her state of inebriation.

“Fuck.” She curses.

The sound of Sana’s wails are deafening to Momo.

The sight may be even worse. Her head is buried in her hands and her shoulders jolt violently with each sob. Momo shivers at the thought that someday, sooner than she wants, this is what she will leave behind.

Suddenly, being high is entirely _not_ the relaxing birthday experience she was promised.

She lays on her side and pushes her body as far into the back of the couch as it will go to make room for Sana.

“Satang.” She calls, holding her arm up as an invite to lay under it.

Sana looks up at her through streams of tears and nods, crawling to the edge of the couch before climbing onto it.

It’s strange, a girl so close to adulthood moving on all fours like a toddler, but maybe it fits perfectly with the way Momo feels she’s seeing Sana, young and vulnerable. The only Sana she’ll ever know.

She should tell her.

Sana in her arms makes Momo think she’s ready for it to finally happen. It’s selfish, definitely. She would never really want to put Sana through that, but she can’t help thinking of how nice it would be.

Because as they lay in the dark now, Momo’s arms wrapped around Sana, she doesn’t see Momo’s skinny face or sunken eyes. She doesn’t see Momo as glass, ready to shatter. All she knows is warm arms pulling her tightly into an embrace. She wants that to be Sana’s last impression of her.

So yes, she could die happily right now. Even if Sana is still sniffling. Even if that persistent cloud of unsaid things floats over them and its storm draws impossibly nearer.

“I hate that you never got to see me when I was normal.” It’s stupid, but she’s allowed to say stupid things to Sana.

“Normal?” Sana seems genuinely confused at that.

“Healthy.”

“Well healthy, sure. But I know for a fact you’ve never been normal.” Sana jokes, a soft shove to her shoulder making a giggle escape from her throat.

“I’m working on applications to those schools in Seoul.”

Momo doesn’t say anything, she knows Sana isn’t expecting her too, anyways.

What is she supposed to say to it? Sana may move hundreds of miles and an ocean away at her request.

“I know it’s a long shot, but I applied to the nursing program at each one.” Sana breathes out into the cool air like it’s a confession.

Seoul isn’t new, but nursing is. Momo feels her eyebrows knit together.

“Because of me?”

She’s not sure if she wants Sana to deny it or not.

“Because of you.”

Momo just hums and grabs Sana’s hand, fingers naturally finding their places between each other. “You’ll be a good nurse. I hope you don’t think of yourself as mine, though.”

It doesn’t come out nearly as playful as Momo wants it too, but Sana turns to face her and that seems to be all it takes for her to understand the levity of Momo’s concern.

“You mean you’ve thought we were friends this whole time?” She smiles that wide, pretty smile that’s so _Sana_ and Momo wishes she could tell her that no, she hasn’t ever thought they were simply friends.

“Silly me.” She whispers. It gets swept up into the late fall breeze. She shivers a bit.

“Are you okay?” Sana worries. Sana always worries.

“I’m fine. You’re not cold?” She turns to Sana, whose eyes are heavy with concern.

“No.” Sana answers, pulling Momo closer to her.

Sana must be thinking about it. She should tell her.

“I’m scared, Sana.” It’s the first time in her life she’s ever admitted it.

“Of what, Momoring?” Sana asks gently, her thumb gliding over the back of Momo’s hand.

“That you love me.”

Sana laughs. It’s airy like the wind around them, and just as abundant. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

Momo wants to laugh along with Sana. She wants to approach this as blithely as the other girl does. But Sana and Momo are different.

“I’m serious.” Momo holds her ground in the loose soil they sit on top of. She anchors herself to the old wooden fence her weight rests against.

“What’s so scary about me loving you?” Sana doesn’t sound the slightest bit concerned. She’s secure in her love for Momo. She’s secure in everything, but this seems more important than everything.

“You deserve better.”

Sana is laughing again, her hold on Momo’s hand tightens.

“Well that’s unfortunate, because I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

It should stop Momo in her tracks. It should crumble her whole world and change her from the inside out.

Except that it’s not surprising. At least not completely. Maybe the most surprising part about it is that it took Sana this long to say it. It does fill her chest with a kind of warmth she hasn’t felt for a few weeks, gives her bones a strength they haven’t known since she was a child.

“You shouldn’t. You deserve someone that won’t leave.” Momo isn’t used to tears in her eyes. The only thing she can equate them to is a rain she can’t stop with simple concentration. It’s unnerving.

“I’m too greedy to deserve anything like that.” Sana counters breezily. Momo smiles because she thinks she’s supposed to.

“We could grow to 100 together and I’d still want more time with you. So if 20 is what we get, or even less, I’ll take it happily.”

“I’ll be here as long as you are.” Momo promises.

It’s a lie.

It can’t be true, not with the way Momo has a projected 6 months at best. Maybe she’ll pull through again and outlive that, but for what, another year?

She should tell her.

Weather happens no matter what and time passes no matter what and fate unfurls no matter what. They don’t stop for stories like Momo and Sana’s.

But Sana must think Momo wants to pretend, because she instantly slips into playing along.

“Good. I don’t expect anything less from you, Hirai.”

“Now say it back.” Sana whispers, eyes locked on the tree across the yard.

“Huh?”

“Do you love me?” Sana asks a question she already knows the answer to. Because people like Sana need things to hold onto.

“I think my love for you is the strongest emotion I have.” So Momo hands over everything she has left.

Sana brings their interlocked hands up to her lips and presses them to the back of Momo’s palm.

It doesn’t stop the tears that are falling down Momo’s cheeks. It’s almost foreign for her to be crying over this again. It’s a wound that has been bleeding so long, Momo doesn’t even notice the flow most days. She thought she had exhausted all of her tears by a young age.

Now, though, she’s mourning something else completely. She’s already felt sorry for herself. She’s already imagined the world without her in it.

Now, she cries for Sana. The girl that got swept up into gusts of Momo’s already broken promises. The girl that could have had a completely normal life; no fist fights in the hall or thunder storms brought out of spite, had she not sat down next to a quiet child one rainy day. The girl that now and forever will have the sun follow her and the moon yearn for her.

Loving Momo will have irreversible effects on Sana, and Momo will get away scot-free.

“Hey.” Sana chides softly and Momo thinks nothing could strip away the playful glint in them. “I thought we weren’t doing that anymore.” She laughs softly, gesturing to Momo’s tear dampened face.

Momo laughs a little too, because Sana always makes it hard not to.

“You just... don’t deserve this.” Momo wipes some tears from under her eyes. It’s redundant by now, but Sana moves to replace her hand anyway, soft fingertips running along Momo’s cheek and over her nose.

“Don’t deserve to be able to spend time with my favorite person?” Sana asks facetiously.

Momo shakes her head. Sometimes, playing along isn’t as easy as Sana makes it seem.

“Momo…” Because Sana knows what Momo is thinking. She always knows, even before Momo opens her mouth or the weather changes.

Momo can’t look her in the eye, opting instead to passively observe the old oak tree that sits at the far end of her yard. Its branches that back up to her bedroom window. Its arms that were low enough for them to spend so many summer days on. It’s once green leaves as they crumple up and fall away in neutral tones.

“Look at me.” Sana commands. Momo notices a small squirrel scurrying around the trunk like it’s not in danger of falling onto the pile of leaves below. It reminds her of Sana.

“ _Look_ at me, Momo.” She says it more forcefully this time and Momo feels a hand cup the side of her jaw, Sana guiding her face until there’s nowhere else to rest her gaze except on top of Sana’s serious one.

“I’m not gonna grieve you while you’re still here.” Her eyes flit over Momo’s face before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips. It’s innocent, closemouthed and gone just as quickly as it had come, as if Sana is doing a practice run.

Regardless, Momo is on fire. Sana had entered her simply by pecking her lips, and now she’s radiating off of her in waves and Momo thinks that from now on, she always will be.

“Especially when I can do that, instead.” She smiles.

Momo barely registers the words as they enter her ears, just stares at Sana’s grin and wonders how it happens to be caused by her.

“Do it again.” _Do it over and over and over again. Do it until you can’t anymore._

Sana doesn’t hesitate this time, planting a soft hand to the back of Momo’s neck, kissing her deeper. Harder, like Momo isn’t made of glass. Like Momo won’t break.

Maybe, as long as Sana keeps kissing her, she won’t.

_**Spring, Sana’s 26th year** _

From the second Sana steps foot on Kyoto soil, she feels it greeting her.

If she’s learned anything in her years of travel, it’s that places, just like people, have personalities and feelings. It’s in the way Los Angeles invited her to learn more about it, the way Paris held her in regard as a jaded explorer, the way Hong Kong was screaming with hope as she walked its streets.

They were all so new, she didn’t know them and they didn’t know her. She’d had introductions to them and they each made up what they thought she was.

Kyoto is unique. Kyoto knows her, inside and out. Without her having to say, the city knows exactly where she’s been and exactly how she feels about it. It would never dare get jealous because it holds something above the rest; the soul that gives it its docile climate and soft breezes.

It’s late spring, and the cherry blossom bloom is in full effect. As she walks along the city sidewalk, she sees children in uniforms making their way to school.

She notices two girls walking with each other silently, one bouncing on the soles of her feet and the other satisfied with a slow gait, kicking away the rocks that threaten to trip her dancing friend.

She wonders if anything truly changes, or if certain things are just a cycle. Maybe there will always be a girl that flirts too affectionately with danger and maybe she will always have a calm counterpart that reminds her why she shouldn’t.

She sends out a silent wish that the two young girls have plenty of time left with one another.

A small flower floats in front of her, landing at her feet where she’s stopped to wait for the bus. She looks down and wonders when too-expensive white loafers took the place of worn mary janes.

Kyoto, like an old friend, is cruel in its insistence of nostalgia.

It’s the thing that brings her to stand under an old evergreen oak, chatting with Momo’s mother about her travels and schooling.

Sometimes, Ms. Hirai looks like she’s about to bring up the elephant in the room before she slams her mouth shut again, as if a curse follows Momo’s name. It probably shouldn’t bother Sana as much as it does. She has to remind herself that people grieve differently.

So she voices her apology without uttering the name that’s been living on the tip of her tongue for years now.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The memory stings like a healing wound being scratched at. It was a late night in Seoul when she heard a crack of thunder ring out for the first time since the night of Mina’s party. And she knew immediately. And she cried with the rain.

“She didn’t even tell me she was-” She stops herself.

Sana spent years trying to extinguish her anger that Momo didn’t notify her of how sick she’d gotten. Years trying to understand why Momo just let herself weather away without Sana by her side. Didn’t she want Sana with her in her final moments? Didn’t Sana deserve a goodbye?

Ms. Hirai doesn’t need to hear any of that. Not when silent tears are already spilling onto her wrinkled cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

Sana breathes it out into the fresh spring air and all the sudden feels undeserving of the sun shining on her. Of the backyard that hasn’t changed, save that Ms. Hirai’s garden is thriving like Sana has never seen, dozens of different flowers in every color of the rainbow.

“I’m sorry.” She repeats one more time. 

The older woman seems to understand. Humming in a way that’s so familiar it rips Sana open and asks something of her that’s completely unfair. Momo had always looked so much like her mother.

Keeping distance from the spitting image of a future that would never come is too unrealistic for the universe to expect from Sana, so she closes the distance and holds a crying face to her chest. Her clean blouse gets stained by tears and her ears by helpless blubbers.

“You did more than you know.” Ms. Hirai whispers out between cries.

It floats to the ground with the pale pink petals. It stays in this city.

She doesn’t remain in Japan long. Just enough to take in the yearly cherry blossoms and fresh air. Spring is supposed to be for new beginnings but in Kyoto, it stings with memories of new school years and long bike rides.

It’s ironic that as her plane flies up and away from the city's airport, she feels like she can breathe again.

Kyoto had tried it’s best to still be her home. It had welcomed her with open arms and reminded her of their best times with one another. It had given her so much in their years together; autumn afternoons and spring mornings that made her heart so full with love she thought it would burst.

A gentle soul that fit with hers so well they could never become disentwined, even as years and miles and the fateful arms of something tragically bigger than both of them separated the two.

Kyoto had given her Momo and for that, it was almost unmatched.

Almost.

Seoul has given her a life. An education and a career. Seoul has given her this; her new living room full of people that admire her as much as she does them. She sees it in the twinkle of their eyes when they joke about her clumsiness. She sees it in how Jeongyeon stops by the hospital just to bring her lunch when she’s equally busy with her own job. She sees it in how little Tzuyu asks her frequent questions about Japan, because she understands what it’s like to be far from a place you know well.

Right now, she sees it in how Chaeyoung’s tongue is poked out in concentration.

She sees it in how Dahyun laughs at her and mimics it.

“Hey!” Chaeyoung whines from atop the ladder. “This is harder than it looks!”

“Michaelangelo never complained.” Nayeon adds from where she stands mixing a drink in Sana’s kitchen.

“Michaelangelo didn’t have to deal with the real housewives of Seoul breathing down his neck.” Chaeyoung fires back.

Sana stands from the couch and runs a comforting hand across Chaeyoung’s leg as she passes by.

“I think you’re doing great, Chaengie.” She smiles. After all, Chaeyoung is doing her a favor.

The younger girl visibly flusters, turning to Dahyun who’s mixing a new strain of black and white paint together.

“Why can’t you be like her?” She seethes down to Dahyun, who gasps in feigned offense and puts a hand over her chest dramatically.

“Ouch.”

“Hand me the gray.” Chaeyoung prompts, reaching a hand out for the palette.

“No, now you don’t get it.” Dahyun moves it down and away from Chaeyoung.

Chaeyoung crouches down from her step on the ladder, reaching desperately for the desired item, but Dahyun just keeps moving farther and farther away.

Jeongyeon is erupting with laughter at the scene as she sits on the couch. Her chuckles are drowning out Jihyo’s voiced concerns that they’re going to end up making a mess as Tzuyu silently nods in agreement, cuddled up between them.

“Sorry, babe. If only I were more like Sana.” Dahyun teases, shaking her head up at Chaeyoung.

“You brat!” Chaeyoung hisses. At this point, she could be Korea’s newest olympic gymnast for how far she’s bending to try and get the paint from a giggling Dahyun.

Sana feels content at the sight of them together.

That thought about how there’s always a fiery girl that needs a taming companion was first brought on by the two of them. It stemmed from when Sana first watched Dahyun wipe paint affectionately off of Chaeyoung’s face or send a dirty look to people who made comments about whatever slightly embarrassing thing Chaeyoung was doing in public.

Sana sees herself in Chaeyoung, how she couldn’t care less what people think, favoring the rush of endorphins that comes from doing exactly what she wants, exactly how she wants to.

And Sana sees Momo in Dahyun. Sometimes, so strongly it makes her heart ache. The way she’s careful with her words and observant of everything.

And just like Sana was meant for a time to be Momo’s, Chaeyoung is meant to be Dahyun’s.

She’s pulled from her thoughts when just as Jihyo was currently predicting, Chaeyoung loses her balance, toppling into Dahyun and knocking her onto the floor. Dark gray paint flies across Sana’s brand new living room and splatters onto the light carpet and white walls.

Sana is silently thankful that she’s already made her way to the kitchen island by the time the disaster occurs. She should be angry or frustrated or even slightly bothered at the fact that her brand new house is now splattered with unruly splotches of deep gray, but Nayeon’s laugh from next to her is far more consuming.

“Look what she did.” Nayeon says softly, leaning into Sana’s side. Sana wraps an arm around her waist without thinking about it.

“Oh it’s fine. The walls are getting repainted anyways. And it’ll wash out of the carpet.” Sana waves her free hand dismissively. Before tacking on a quiet “Hopefully”.

“No, I mean, look what she _did_.” Nayeon reiterates, pointing up to Sana’s living room ceiling.

Sana feels her breath catch in her throat at the small gray mural. It’s not completely done yet, but it’s already so similar to the original that something squeezes Sana’s heart where it lays in her chest.

Sana has half a mind to run over to where Chaeyoung is squirming on the floor and pepper her face in grateful kisses.

“I wish I could’ve met her.” Nayeon exhales carefully, as if mentioning Momo might break Sana.

Maybe it could, but never when done by Nayeon.

“I think you have.” Sana breathes out, only hoping the other woman will understand.  
  
Nayeon usually does, or at least has the decency to pretend she does.

It’s one of the things that makes Sana most confident about their ever-blossoming relationship.

Nayeon is new and exciting in the way she craves adventure just as much as Sana; pulling her along for random trips to the beach and maybe, if they drink enough beforehand, some light trespassing and public indecency.

She’s old and familiar in the way she speaks with Sana through small touches and silent understandings.

“Like last week, when you said your kids wanted to play outside so badly but it was raining. And then suddenly, when it was time for recess, it stopped. I think you met her then.” Sana thinks back, trying to pick out only a few of the many times she had been sure Momo was around.

She was there for Jihyo and Jeongyeon’s wedding last autumn, when the wind playfully danced in the brides’ hair and under the white tablecloths and through the trees, helping them shed their colorful leaves onto the ceremony below.

She was there when the couple finally got permanent custody of Tzuyu a few months ago, switching from her foster to adoptive parents. As they all met teary-eyed in front of the courthouse, the sun celebrated their new little family with dances of light. Tzuyu looked up into it with a happy smile on her young face when Jeongyeon held her up, recreating the scene from the Lion King as Nayeon sang the accompanying song dramatically.

She was there for Chaeyoung’s first serious art exhibit, held outdoors in July (which Sana already thought was stupid). Dark clouds loomed above the exposed gallery and Chaeyoung gulped nervously and just like that, the sky cleared and the sun gleamed on her brightly colored canvases.

She was there for their vacation to Hawaii, when Dahyun fell asleep on the beach and the waves came up to wake her with a tickle on her toes, reminding her that even 5 minutes too long in the rays would leave her so red she’d never hear the end of it from the rest of them.

“And on our first date, you said you wanted to be with me for the first snowfall of the winter, and in that exact moment, it started snowing. Do you remember?” She breaks to glance at Nayeon who nods with a far away look in her eyes. “I think you met her then, too.”

“So she likes me?” Nayeon asks. Sana chuckles at the way she sounds hopeful like a child.

“She likes you.” She confirms, glancing out the large window above the sink to watch the moon glimmer playfully at them.

She waves back at it. Nayeon giggles and does the same.

_“I'll find you in the morning sun and when the night is new, I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you.“_

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for briefly making them cosplayers... thought it would be funny.
> 
> thanks for reading!! feedback is always welcome :]


End file.
